


birds born in a cage think flying is an illness

by thebetterbina



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Porn, Anal Sex, Bottom Connor (Detroit: Become Human), How Do I Tag, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Top Hank Anderson, Twitter, Twitter request, favourite tag, i got paid to write porn yeehaw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-12 16:45:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18014591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebetterbina/pseuds/thebetterbina
Summary: Deviancy was freedom, to be a deviant meant to free.But what does a bird, who’s been born to a cage know about the world beyond bars and gilded tethers? Does it naturally know how to fly? Where to fly?“500-1000 words of soft hankcon banging because Connor is stupid horny about Hank’s sexy reading glasses?” for@honkforhankconon twitter but instead I make it 3k words and it's kinda not soft at all.





	birds born in a cage think flying is an illness

**Author's Note:**

> unbetad, catch me with those mistakes

Connor doesn't think life after deviancy got easy, sure, it got  _ easier _ — but never easy. 

 

It was the little things mostly; like the realization of having a preference wasn't a bad thing, that he was allowed to have an opinion and didn't have to obey every time a human gave him an order. He was allowed to think for himself, decide his own schedule and how he wanted to prioritize things. Life suddenly wasn’t a list of things he had to do because his programming told him so.

 

Deviancy was freedom, to be a deviant meant to free.

 

But what does a bird, who’s been born to a cage know about the world beyond bars and gilded tethers? Does it naturally know how to fly? Where to fly?

 

He asks himself these questions plenty of times, running through his processors and more often than not worrying Hank with how often his LED pulses yellow and red. One of the few things he opted not to remove, Hank once said he was odd for deciding so — but Connor doesn’t see his LED as a derogatory marking like the other deviants do.

 

That was just his own way of being different, Hank had told him one night when Connor brought his thoughts up.

 

The price of freedom, Connor supposed, was having to wait until the human government finalised the rectified Android laws. Until then all deviant androids kept to their homes, away from jobs that might force them to work as free labour. Connor had insisted he wanted to work for the DPD regardless, money was of very little consequence to him — but still, Captain Fowler and Hank had both sat him down and then proceeded to harshly instruct him he was to wait until the laws were finalized for him. 

 

Hank.

 

Hank had opened his home up to Connor after the revolution, Markus had done the same — opened up Jericho’s doors even for the infamous deviant hunter. It was nice of the leader, but he never quite felt comfortable being around their group. All made of fiery personalities against his more demure tone, at least Hank was calmer. Never raised his voice unless necessary, always answering his questions with the patience of a saint. Hank took care of Connor, gave him a place to rest during his stasis — always made sure he had plenty of thirium, always made sure he had some pocket money to get whatever he thought was interesting when the urge to go out came by. 

 

Hank took care of Connor, and Connor returned the care tenfold.

 

It started with the house, from wiping down dusty cabinets to vacuuming and mopping the floor — then Connor had included Sumo in his routine, walking the big boy, giving him a bath and even trimming off matted fur. It didn’t take long before the entire domesticity of the situation just branched into Connor helping to change the sheets, wash the clothes, and even have a meal prepared for Hank as he returned back from work. It was a schedule, one that Connor had been at least a little desperate to get a grasp on and it was comforting knowing he’d found his place in the small Anderson home.

 

Anderson.

 

Connor remembers once seeing the ex-wife, apparently remarried, having decided to check on Hank and promptly enter a screaming match right on the front porch. Hank had remained sour for the rest of the day, Connor had tried to ignore the strong feeling he had against the woman.

 

_ “Hate _ ,” North would cheerfully supply to him in a short conversation he’d decided rather sporadically to have with her, _ “— you hate her.” _

 

A strong word, but he justifies it with the fact anyone who’d caused Hank that much distress deserved as much.

 

It’s slow, blooming like a roadside flower going unnoticed, the gentle affection he holds for the Lieutenant that is returned just the same. Connor tries to pin that emotion down when he talks to Simon another night, balking when Simon suggested he saw the Lieutenant as a parental figure —  _ no _ , most definitely not.

 

_ “I think you love him.” _

 

“Love?”

 

_ “Do you think you love him?” _

 

Love. An intense feeling of deep affection.

 

It’s one particular night, just a little colder, that Connor bolts upright on the couch with the answer as clear as the cycling red of his LED.

 

He  _ loves _ Hank Anderson.

 

Some things change after that, it’s subtle — suddenly Connor feels so much shy with the way Hank goes about his day, things Connor hadn’t noticed before suddenly become the object of his fascination. The way Hank eats, his posture when he’s relaxed, the peak of a belly under the casual shirt and boxers the man was so fond of walking around in.

 

Hank doesn’t notice for the most part, for that Connor is infinitely thankful.

 

Hank doesn’t question when Connor starts to stare for too long, doesn’t question when Connor says he’s experiencing a mild system error and needs to excuse himself to the bathroom for however long.

 

It’s fine, and Connor convinces himself it should be — the idea of risking whatever fragile relationship he has with the one human he thinks the world of would break him in more ways than one.

 

Josh thinks he’s a little silly for being so shy.  _ “Just confess,” _ but Connor doesn’t see it so simply.

 

It’s fine until it’s not.

 

The evening started out relatively normal, a quiet reading session Connor had been the one to suggest in the hopes of getting Hank interested in the bookshelf he never seemed to touch. Hank had been happy to indulge, settling down, pulling the book and … bringing out a pair of reading glasses, settling the frames over the bridge of his nose.

 

Connor makes a choked noise.

 

Hank looks up, eyebrow raised with a look of question.

 

“You okay there?”

 

“Uh — yes, fine Lieutenant. I just wasn’t aware you had um … reading glasses.”

 

Hank returns with a snort, eyes returning back to the open page.

 

“These? I don’t need em to be honest, just pull them out when I feel like it.”

 

Connor tries not to stare too long.

 

That works until Hank looks back up, catching Connor very obviously  _ staring _ .

 

“Okay Con, look — whatever you need to say I need you to say it now.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

 

Connor doesn’t bother to hide the flush climbing his cheeks, embarrassment another emotion with deviancy he hated experiencing. Sometimes he wonders just how often he forgets Hank had managed to make the youngest Lieutenant, of course he’d be a talented detective — the man was essentially the backbone of Connor’s programme.

 

“I’m sorry …”

 

“I’m not angry, I just wanna know why you do it.”

 

Hank has that expectant look in him, the same eyes he uses on Sumo when trying to get the big guy to admit to swallowing something he wasn’t meant to. Last time was Connor’s coin, before that was a bag of treats accidentally left open. But what’s stupid is that it actually works on Connor. The words come out rushed, blurted and hurried.

 

“I am attracted to you. Emotionally and sexually.”

 

A silence quickly falls between them, it stretches on for moments as they lock eyes. Soft chocolate brown to winter blues. One blinking rather slowly, the other with fear steadily creeping into features.

 

“I completely understand if that’s uncalled for. I understand your position with Androids and it was entirely out of my —“

 

“Connor, when did you begin to think that.”

 

“... two weeks, five days, two hours, thirty five minutes and —“

 

“No wonder.”

 

“... I don’t follow.”

 

“That’s when you started acting weird.”

 

Connor begins to flush again, wondering just how much he’s going to embarrass himself before the evening finishes.

 

“It’s just well … sudden ain’t it?”

 

How is he going to explain the reading glasses were the thing?

 

“Was it the glasses?”

 

Connor caves in on himself.

 

“Hey there’s nothing wrong with a kink or two.”

 

“It’s a  _ preference _ I don’t have a  _ kink _ for glasses —”

 

“Kink.”

 

Connor returns with a frown, Hank practically barking with laughter. Sumo from his corner lifts his head, tongue lolling sideways before going back to rest.

 

He expects the conversation to end that way, with the muted quiet it’s always been, Hank going back to whatever state of mind he held himself at and Connor just repressing whatever stupid needs that came with the onset of deviancy. What did he know after all? There was a whole world out there he’d yet to experience, with Hank the way he was Connor almost expects him to ignore the confession. Pretend it never happened, let them stay good partners at the precinct and just friends at home.

 

He hopes that’s how it’ll all turn out.

 

What he doesn’t expect is when Hank motions him over, single finger with figure relaxed and heartbeat elevated ever slightly. He complies without a second thought, sliding over to Hank, only flinching slightly when a large calloused hand runs over his side — tugging him closer and eventually onto Hank’s lap. 

 

This wasn’t  _ at all _ what he predicted.

 

“Fresh little deviant got the hots for an old man huh?” 

 

It’s said without the usual bite of self depreciation, Connor doesn’t hold back the lopsided grin he returns.

 

“Is this your way of accepting my confession?”

 

He sighs at this, Connor physically feeling the slow heave of breath as the hand begins stroking gently.

 

“Look Con, what I know is that you’re still exploring who you are — but you aren’t stupid either, and God knows that brain of yours works faster than any human. If this is what you want, then I’m more than happy to at least give it a try.”

 

The words have a strange effect on him.

 

He feels it the way a bird feels their tethers falling away, the free fall that comes along with the relief that gently swathes him the way Hank’s presence becomes a soft comfort. Lithe arms wrap around the older man, he presses his forehead against the crook of Hank’s neck gently breathing his thanks before pulling back to gently press pallid lips against dryer ones.

 

It starts soft and altogether sweet, perfect in every way Connor hesitates to describe and chooses instead to commit everything to memory — it stays that way before he feels the probe of Hank’s tongue against his lips, seeking permission that Connor is only all too happy to give. 

 

Hank is his first, first everything really, and though Connor is anything but innocent he feels that way, cocooned in a strong embrace, face burning as a deft tongue explores the more sensitive caverns of his own mouth. Sensors firing off and the pull of the information with the saliva appearing over his HUD that he blinks away and switches off to enjoy the moment, it really shouldn’t be a surprise how good Hank is — the man had lived long enough and probably took more partners than he could count if the photos of his younger days were anything to go by.

 

Connor doesn’t feel the green envy of jealousy, he’s entirely unbothered when he knows for a fact he has Hank  _ now _ and that’s what matters.

 

He ends up squirming halfway, little mewls when he can’t quite cope with the array of emotions even a machine as complex as him struggles to understand. Deviancy is unlike the way a human experiences emotion, a human has time to grow from childhood, to understand and nurture the way they think with the guidance of a figure to help — an android has precious few seconds to comprehend what their computers were never designed to compute, when there’s too much to give and to little that can be taken.

 

“Too much?”

 

He murmurs a soft  _ no _ , moving to give Hank soft pecks instead while the older man chuckles, shifting only a fraction but it’s enough for Connor to feel the brush of the very obviously larger than normal tenting over boxers. He glances down, Hank gives a nervous chuckle.

 

“Yeah, didn’t think I could still get it up.”

 

“That’s a lie, you jerked off in the shower yesterday.”

 

“You were  _ listening _ — you know what? I shouldn’t even be surprised anymore.”

 

“It’s okay Hank, I know I’m attractive.”

 

“Cheeky little shit, c’mon let’s take this to the bedroom my back definitely won’t last on the couch.”

 

With that Hank wraps his arms around Connor, giving a slight frown before managing to surprise himself with just how easily he rises with Connor on him.

 

“Didn’t know you were this light.”

 

“I was made with a metal alloy — stronger than even the best and light as a feather.”

 

_ To make a fast hunter _ , but that goes unsaid. Hank takes those words without much question and they amble to the bedroom, it’s spacious and they drop onto the king sized bed with Connor still securely wrapped around him. 

 

Hank was passionate, that had been what Connor had surmised. Was passionate before the accident, and it took awhile to rekindle the flame but the light of the man he was came bleeding through with the weeks coming. Cleaner clothes, tidied hair, trimmed bearded, not smelling of puke or liquor. It was a change and people at the DPD could only guess who was the positive catalyst for that change — Hank became passionate again, in his work, in his life.

 

In his love.

 

Connor moans, grinding his hips upwards, insistent need becoming obvious that Hank only tuts at.

 

“I wanna enjoy this.”

 

Heavy baritone voice carries him, large hands tracing his face, moving downwards and pressing only lightly as it trails across his body. Connor shivers at the clothed contact, sighing contentedly when a heavy palm covers over his own tented member. They don’t waste time taking clothes off, Connor’s shirt is gone just as Hank decides to tweak a nipple — eliciting a squeak from Connor who’d been entirely unaware just how sensitive CyberLife had decide to build him. Hank finds it endearing, teasing the two perky pink nubs with pinched fingers and tongue. 

 

“H _ aaaaaa _ nk —“

 

“What? Not into foreplay?”

 

He returns with a pointed huff, pouting cheeks in a way he knows Hank is weak to.

 

Thick fingers work his boxes down, things Connor would have gladly gone without if Hank hadn’t been so insistent he tried and at least owned a pair. They slide off easily, and Hank takes awhile to admire the sculpted cock — average for an American male — before leaning down to lick at the budding android equivalent pre come.

 

“Is this safe to swallow?”

 

Connor’s between a choked reply as he nods, Hank takes him all the way and Connor swears if he was human he’d have broken his neck with how much his bows.

 

It felt  _ amazing _ .

 

He feels the budding tears with just how aggressively Hank sucks, bobbing his head up and down in an erratic rhythm. It’s just about the only stimulation he needs to reach orgasm when Hank abruptly stops, Connor only then taking note of the finger that had just entered him and Hank’s comically wide eyes as he realized how wet Connor was.

 

“Self lubrication.”

 

“Holy fuck.”

 

Experimentally, Hank slides in two, thick fingers going in without so much as a protest and Connor leaning his head back to moan. Hank pulls out, and slowly pushes his fingers in, marvelling at just how easily Connor accommodates and e\he keeps that torturous rhythm. In and out. 

 

“Hank — please —“

 

“Mm?”

 

“ _ Please _ —“

 

“I can’t hear you darlin’ speak up.”

 

“ _ Pleasefuckmefuckmefuckmepleasepleaseplease _ —“

 

“That’s a good boy.”

 

Hank’s own boxers are off just as Connor manages to catch a glimpse and the sight is enough to halt his processors. Hank is big,  _ huge _ , well over the size of any average American and suddenly Connor can understand why everyone made so many  _ big dick jokes _ about Hank because that was just ridiculous and shouldn’t be humanly possible —

 

He feels the press of the bulbous head against his hole, and for once, Connor manages to identify the emotion he feels as nervous.

 

He’s  _ nervous _ .

 

“Ready?”

 

He doesn’t get a chance to respond.

 

Hank slides in, his cock practically being swallowed by just how accommodating Connor’s body is — tight wet heat, clenching with every few inches Hank moves in, breathy and drawn out moan that could might have well come from either of them as Hank settles to the base. 

 

He gives a low whistle, admiring the sight, twitching fidgety little twink android practically crying around his cock. 

 

“Fuck you’re the first to take me all the way.”

 

Connor responds by reflexively tightening, drawing out a wheezed breath from Hank at the sensation.

 

They stay that way awhile, calm few breaths between them, Hank probably isn’t sure how long he’s supposed to wait — it’s not necessary really but Connor appreciates the thought. He’s all broken little whimpers, flushed skin and mussed hair. It doesn’t take long before Connor gets a little impatient, moving on his own, actually pushing down until he feels the curve of his ass pressed right u[ against Hank’s hips and making the older man growl.

 

“You needy little  _ minx _ .”

 

He pulls back abruptly, Connor whining at the loss before he’s yelping — Hank thrusts just as suddenly, setting a pace of pulling out all the way before pushing back into the welcoming warmth with a heavy pistoning pace. Connor’s toes curl with every movement, lithe little fingers fisting the back of the sheets so tightly he could probably rip them. It’s an unrelenting pace Hank is happy to give, ever quickening when one particularly harsh buck at a spot has Connor screaming his name.

 

Connor’s a little alarmed they built something like that in him, but he’s not complaining.

 

It’s a torturous game then, to see who’d be the first to let up. Between Hank’s age and Connor’s capabilities it shouldn’t be a contest, but really he should be factoring in just how new he was at this whole thing. The sensation, the stretch, the wet slaps and —

 

He comes with a muffled scream, Hank’s name on his lips like a sinner’s cry, white spurts of artificial semen from the perfectly sculpted little cock. 

 

Hank’s grinning like an idiot as he continues to thrust, drawing out those cries, desperately enjoying the way Connor begs him for more. 

 

“Come in me — come in me please  _ pleasepleaseplease _ —“

 

He hears Hank curse under his breath, his next few thrusts becoming erratic, chasing the orgasm that crests and crashes down — a broken dam as he feels Hank come in heavy strings, a seemingly endless tide that fills him nicely as Hank pulls out with a wet pop to watch. Probably enjoying a little too much the way come drips out of Connor’s ass like some debauched scene in those “creampie” pornos humans liked to watch.

 

Connor tucks that little note off for another time.

 

Bonelessly Hank crashes next to him, Connor probably looking just as tired with LED cycling a soft blue. Hank’s fingers trace the side of his face, pushing away brown hair with soft affection.

 

“You okay?”

 

Connor smiles. 

 

“That felt like flying.”

**Author's Note:**

> find me on twitter and commission me there yeehaw [@therealconnor60](https://twitter.com/therealconnor60)


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